Don't tear me down, for all I need.
Make my heart a better place.
Give me something I can believe.
"You should come with me on patrol." Papyrus says, hands fiddling with the clasps on his booth.
Sans turns his head, watching him from the corner of his eye, and for a moment, the taller skeleton is sure his brother will refuse the request.
"Sure, boss." He says instead, and Papyrus raises a brow at the nickname still.
It had started as an almost mocking remark, after he had risen so fluidly in the ranks of the royal guard, while his unambitious older brother was more than content with an unassuming sentry position. This technically made Papyrus his direct superior.
But Sans has a horrible tendency of not calling people by their full names, the title had stuck. Papyrus had always felt like there was an edge of jest to it.
Of course, back then it was better than 'bro' (a horrible reminder for the younger skeleton that yes, he is related to such a weak being).
Except that now, it sounded more sincere. Like Sans really looked up to him for instructions or charge.
"Why, though?"
Ah yes, there was the Sans he knew. Papyrus rolls his eyes slightly, straightening out again, and noticing with secret pleasure that his brother is standing at the door even while asking.
The question was more a matter of principle, it seems.
"Because I say so." He clicks his jaw, a habit he developed recently whenever he has to keep himself from saying what he truly means.
Because saying 'I want to spend time together' sounds gag-worthily sappy and 'I want to keep an eye on you' sounds a tad creepy.
He hopes Sans doesn't notice.
Apparently he doesn't, or maybe he does and he's just acting oblivious, because the smaller skeleton pulls the door open and makes a tiny hand gesture.
"After you, sir." He grins, and this time Papyrus knows he is being derogatory.
He makes his way over, but doesn't actually pass through the door, making Sans throw him a confused look.
When it sinks in why his brother is just standing there, Sans laughs under his breath, leading the way down the few steps at the front of their home.
The Great Papyrus is too smart to show his back to anybody.
The snow is deep enough to reach Sans' ankles, spilling over the edges of his sneakers and soaking the socks he's wearing. Luckily skeletons can't feel the cold.
He watches as Papyrus locks the door tightly behind them, a worthless gesture as far as the small skeleton is concerned.
If somebody really wanted to nab their stuff, they'd break a window. Or if it was a personal vendetta, burn the entire house to the ground.
Then again, this hypothetical person would probably try to do that while they were sleeping. Kill two birds with one stone.
Or in this case, two skeletons with one fire.
Sans grins hard at his own joke, making a mental note to go by the door in the forest again soon so he can actually tell it to somebody. The crazy lady is probably wondering what happened to him, anyway. Last time they talked, he was having a slight existential crisis.
"What are you grinning at now?"
An automatic denial almost slips past his none-existent lips. Answering 'nothing' whenever his brother questions his motives is a defensive habit he gained over time.
But it gets stuck in his throat, remembering the almost grudging grin he had pulled out of the tall skeleton earlier. Maybe...
"I'm just admiring the Great Papyrus' amazing anti-intruder system... a locked door." The sarcasm that seeps into his voice is easy. Meant to give an edge to the joke, but not come across as a slight to his brother's efforts.
Papyrus doesn't crack a smile... but he doesn't get mad either.
He stares at the door for a second, turns to Sans with an odd expression.
"What would you suggest, then?"
Sans rocks back and forth on the heels of his sneakers, nervously, still not used to Papyrus looking at him like that.
Not scornful. Not hateful. Not like Sans is just garbage under his shoes.
But like he seriously wants to know his brother's thoughts.
"Geeze, Boss, I don't fucking know." He mumbles, unaccustomed to getting to voice his opinion. "It's not like anybody can't crash through the windows if they really wanted."
His younger brother had done that very thing himself, once or twice, on rare occasions. Sans decides not to mention those occurrences.
Papyrus looks at the house again, now standing next to the small skeleton. "I'm not boarding up the windows." He says, frowning hard.
"Yeah, I didn't think I'd get you to be on board with that, anyway." Sans saw the opportunity and seized it.
But Papyrus doesn't seem to hear him, slightly cocking his head as he observes their abode, then turning to start of in the direction of the forest, leaving Sans to hurry after him in an effort to catch up to his brother's much longer strides.
"I'll talk with the captain about it." The tall skeleton says.
His pace and the wind coincide, causing his overly large scarf to billow behind him, and Sans can't help but think his bro looks pretty cool like that.
He pushes the thought away.
"What's the fuzz anyway?" He questions, giving up his efforts to catch up to the younger skeleton, opting to walk slightly behind him instead.
It allows him to walk in the path his brother is carving through the snow, making it easier on him to struggle through the snowdrifts.
And anything that enables him to minimize his efforts is a good thing in Sans's books.
"It's not like anybody is actually going to be stupid enough to try something." He huffs as an afterthought.
All jokes aside, Papyrus and himself don't need to fear a break in happening. Sans is fairly certain his brother would easily destroy anybody that tried.
Monsters are extremely territorial. They defend their possessions to death, if need be. Especially in their world, where people are always looking to take what they can, even if it does not rightly belong to them.
"Of course not! Nobody would dare to cross The Great and Terrible Papyrus!" His brother says, nyeh-ing a bit for extra effect, but it almost sounds like he's trying to convince himself.
An empty boast.
Sans grins hard at his back, knowing his brother can't see it anyway. "Except if they got really desperate."
He isn't even sure why he says it. Maybe the tense atmosphere in the shop is still on his mind. The slightly over-crowded nature of the black market. The higher than usual prices.
Sans isn't an idiot.
Papyrus doesn't answer, stopping and staring at the ground. Sans thinks that maybe they've reached one of the puzzles he's planning to calibrate, but the snow is suspiciously devoid of traps.
"What would happen?" His brother's voice is low, quieter than his usual attention-commanding tone.
Sans stops too, still slightly behind the other. He can't see his brother's facial expression like this, but has a distinct feeling that's what Papyrus was aiming at anyway.
"What would happen when?" Sans doesn't need to ask to know what the younger skeleton is talking about, but he craves this.
This normal type of conversation. This barely concealed civilness.
Every word Papyrus speaks to him that is not an insult or disparaging remark makes him crave more.
"When they do get real desperate, Sans?" The casual use of his name is like a drug, the tone oddly reminiscent of the days before.
Days when they were still brothers.
"When they get real desperate..." Sans draws out the silence, feeling like he needs to give a proper answer. He has always been the better character judge.
Papyrus needs his advice. And Sans wants to please his boss.
"They will become more reckless, risking their life to get what they want. Maybe even against better judgement. It will narrow down to survival of the fittest for real. Kill or be killed."
Because their world has not yet reached it's epitome of cruelty.
But it could. It could all fall apart in a heartbeat.
And what a breathtaking collapse it would be.
The thoughts are dark and bleak, return his mind to that pitiful state of apathy he has been trying to shake the past few days. Like putting a glass over a candle, depriving it of oxygen and killing the flame of hope.
Choking.
"Don't worry, boss." He says, and the nickname is back to tasting bitter in his mouth."You'll be more than fine. It's the weak ones that don't last."
'Like me...' He doesn't say. The subtext is more than clear. He brushes against the crack in his skull, sharp pain to remind himself he's not dead yet.
"Don't say things like that!" Papyrus snaps, resorting to being angry again. He turns around, eyes dangerously sharp. "It's not funny."
"And I'm not joking." Sans bites back, cold on the inside, yet somehow feeling ready to burst.
Why must everything always come back to this? The empty feeling of bitterness that has filled his chest cavity for ages now, slowly growing and consuming.
Normally, Sans would try and shrug it of. Harbor it inside, while keeping an impassive face for the outside world.
Now it shows clearly on him. Papyrus takes a step towards him, but slowly. As if Sans could bolt any second now.
Not that there'd be anywhere to run.
"Is it really that bad living?" his younger brother asks, and Sans has to actually think before answering.
"I'm not living. I'm just killing time."
Papyrus frowns harder, steps closer still. His arms hang limply by his side, as if he doesn't know what to do with them anymore.
They're within arms reach but neither move.
"Do you want to die?" The tall skeleton's voice is low again.
It takes Sans longer than he would like to respond, trying to organize his own thoughts, and staring at the snow at his feet.
Maybe if this question had been asked a few days ago, he would have said yes. He had been tired, spent. There had been no reason for him to get up in the mornings. No reason for anything.
And now?
There might still not be a reason. There might never be.
But at least it didn't feel as unbearable anymore just to exist.
"No." He says, still staring at the snow beneath his sneakers, and the relieve in the air around them is almost palpable.
"Good." Papyrus says, with a little smirk. "Because I won't let you."
"W-what?" Sans falters, caught of guard by the sudden shift of mood.
"I'm not going to let you die, you ass. I won't permit it." There is a gloved hand on his skull, right beside the crack, but ever so careful not to touch. He doesn't dare to raise his gaze.
"So if the worse does happen, don't do anything stupid, understood?"
Touch and tone combined end up forming a gesture that is oddly protective in nature. Possessive.
"Whatever you say, boss." He mumbles, feeling like the heat in his soul could easily melt the snow around them.
Papyrus leaves him then, the quiet bonding moment over almost as suddenly as it occurred. If Sans didn't know any better, he'd thought it never happened at all.
"You neither." He says quickly, loath to miss the opportunity. Papyrus looks at him over his shoulder, and he suddenly feels very sheepish, covering it up with a smirk of his own.
"Doing something stupid." He clarifies. "I don't want you to die, either."
The tall skeleton scoffs at him. "The Great Papyrus never does anything stupid."
The fact that he's currently trying to slough through at least a foot of snow, kind of undermines the statement, but Sans doesn't mention it.
Even if the world around them starts to fall apart. Even if the air grows thinner and the fire gutters out.
Maybe they can be each other's oxygen.
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